


Catch the Light

by YourPalYourBuddy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 'hey wait thats not my bag oh no', Airports, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, NHL Holster, POV Alternating, Sharing Clothes, Snapshots, background zimbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/pseuds/YourPalYourBuddy
Summary: “It is an emergency,” Shitty says gently. “I’ll put out for a game shirt tonight, okay? And then we can watch your boy wreck some Aces, it’ll be fun.”“Adam Birkholtz isn’t my—”Shitty doesn’t let him finish. “I know I know, you just think he’s a great defenseman, did you see that game where he did x y z, his ass in that suit at that presser, got it. I’m fully versed on your appreciation of Holster’s, uh, technical skills.”____________________________Justin and Adam grab the wrong duffel at the airport. This is what happens afterward.Holsom, alternating POV.





	Catch the Light

________________________________________________

 

“This is,” Justin mutters, five hours late with the wrong duffel in his hands, “entirely Shitty’s fault.”

It looks just like his own. A little scuffed up, the stitched tag coming away just so slightly. The little plastic part where any competent flyer would have put their contact information but where the suitcase’s owner stuck a white and blue sticker. A closer look reveals it to have a car with a flight of stairs on it.

He didn’t have his own info on his bag either. Justin groans and drops the duffel in a defeated fashion on his hotel bed.

There hadn’t been time to catch the mistake at the airport. It had been a miracle he’d gotten a taxi as quickly as he did, considering he’d landed at noon and his meeting had started at one. He had only just sat down before his boss had walked in and started the conference call.

“Fuck,” he says softly, because sometimes it helps. It does.

____________

 

Justin’s alarm goes off at 4:45PM. He’s about to open his duffel bag before he freezes, pausing with his fingers on the tab.

He can’t just take a stranger’s clothes, can he? He’d done a cursory scan yesterday, first casually when he thought the bag was his, then frantic when he realized it wasn’t. It contains two pairs of nice dress shirts and slacks and socks and, bizarrely, a sports mouthguard. The shirts and slacks are about his size and he’s wearing his own shoes, so that isn’t an issue. There are two horribly clashing ties stuffed in the front zip pocket, but Justin’s tie from the day before should work fine. It’s only two more days, after all.

The zipper slides a few inches before he stops again. He sighs.

He dials Shitty’s number.

“Yo, you made it!” Shitty says through a mouthful of something. “Still on for the Falconers game? Bits’ beau got us sweet tix.”

“Shits,” Justin starts. He’s treated to the sound of Shitty washing down whatever he was eating with — ice? “I lost my bag.”

“Behind the net, right by the gla — what d’you mean, lost your bag?”

“I mean,” he says, tapping his knuckles on the bedside table, “someone grabbed my duffel by mistake.”

“Oh no, bro — wait.” Justin waits. Shitty continues with a very fast, “oh no bro you don’t think this is my fault do you?”

“If you look at the events leading up to it, your honor—”

“Don’t ‘your honor’ me, this isn’t _my_ fault—”

“Is so, what adult doesn’t have luggage? If you hadn’t borrowed mine—”

“What adult doesn’t _mark their bags?”_

“I’m just saying, Shits, this could’ve been avoided if you and Lards had invested in your own suitcases.”

He hears the triumph in Shitty’s voice before he even speaks. “If _you_ had invested in _your_ own duffel, my dear Ransom, you wouldn’t be in this pickle.” Justin blows his lips out and hopes the sound crackles in Shitty’s ear. “I know it’s early but you’re gonna have to wake up before seven forty-five to out-lawyer me.”

“Shitty. What do I do?”

Even to his own ears his voice sounds small. He pulls a paper towel off the roll and starts pinching it to pieces as a distraction.

“Shopping? Well. No time. Are there—? Y’know. Clothes in the duffel? Not that I can advise stealing, as a lawyer, but. _Borrowing_ sounds like the best option.”

Justin glances at the duffel and imagines the owner of this bag wearing his clothes. “I guess,” he says, and Shitty makes affirmative noises in his ear.

“It _is_ an emergency,” Shitty says gently. “I’ll put out for a game shirt tonight, okay? And then we can watch your boy wreck some Aces, it’ll be fun.”

“Adam Birkholtz isn’t my—”

Shitty doesn’t let him finish. “I know I know, you just think he’s a great defenseman, did you see that game where he did x y z, his ass in that suit at that presser, got it. I’m fully versed on your appreciation of Holster’s, uh, technical skills.”

Justin’s thoroughly relieved no one’s there to see how red his face is when he hangs up.

________________________________________________

 

It’s worth being stated, for the record, that Adam Birkholtz doesn’t typically wear salmon pants. Or charcoal-brown blazers. Or white shirts with small pink octopi on them paired with a neat dark pink tie. He runs a finger under the collar and swallows a sip of water, trying to exude an air of _yes I did dress myself, these aren’t a stranger’s clothes_ on the red carpet leading to the stadium.

It’s a little more snug than he would’ve chosen for himself. Adam smiles his way through a reporter’s questions, not daring to move his hands in case the blazer splits. Whoever owns these clothes is slightly smaller than he is. He hopes it isn’t obvious, but from the way Tater and Jack are so clearly trying to hide smirks in their own interviews, it’s too much to hope for.

Adam narrows his eyes at them as he heads into the depths of the stadium. He has a small sac of Falconers gear in his hockey bag that he’s itching to change into.

From behind him, someone calls, “Adam!”

He plasters a smile on and turns. Jack jogs toward him, looking unfairly comfortable in his simple suit. Adam lets his smile slip and he scowls at him. He’s mostly joking. From the way Jack rolls his eyes, he thinks he gets it.

“You, ah,” Jack says, biting on his grin. “Hire a stylist?”

“Someone took my duffel,” he sighs. “Least I can rock a print.”

Jack bumps him with his shoulder and they set off toward the guest locker room. “I told him not to say that, went straight to your head.”

Adam had sent the group chat a picture of his outfit as soon as he realized his bag wasn’t actually his bag. Snowy and Marty had seemed impressed, Poots laughed at him, Tater wanted to borrow the shirt (and was very disappointed to hear it wouldn’t fit him), but Jack’s boyfriend had chimed in with the only comment that made him feel better.

“Bitty’s the only one who’s here for me anymore,” Adam says, and Jack laughs.

“It does look nice. They’re good colors for you.”

Adam preens a little, because he isn’t wrong, and then they move on to talk about faceoff percentages and the opposing goalie’s save average.

____________

 

It’s always something of a rush playing away games because most people in the stands don’t want them to win. When they do it’s a little sweeter because it’s on the road, like they’re making Providence proud three time zones away. The crowd’s already on its feet, hoping the Aces pull through, and Adam’s been playing long enough that he knows to tune out the boos and absorb the energy they’re giving the home team. During warmups he takes a few minutes to pick out Falconer blue in the stands and imagines the whole stadium decked out in their colors because fuck the Aces, honestly. You win two Cups and suddenly think you’re going to bring hockey to the fucking moon. Not that he’s bitter about losing in game seven, of course.

He and Jack are stretching out by the bench when Tater skates up, stopping to spray ice at them. Adam sticks his tongue out at him.

“Yes, very good chirp, Holster,” Tater says, tapping his skate with his stick.

Adam says, “I’m saving it for Abney,” and Tater sticks his tongue out back.

“His are world class. Maybe study chirps during tape, yeah?”

Adam grins, shaking his head. “You’re getting too good at this,” he says.

Tater poses like he’s accepting an award and taps Jack’s kneepad. “Cute baker is here, wants to make lovey dovey eyes at you before game.”

Jack actually blushes at that. Adam and Tater beam at each other; Adam may be slightly jealous of it, but these last few months have been so good for Jack. It’s so clear how good they are for each other.

“Don’t want to disappoint,” Jack says. He just about jumps to his feet, scanning the crowd.

“Behind Snowy,” Tater supplies. Jack smiles a thank you and takes off.

Adam and Tater pretend to stretch as they watch a small knot of Falconers fans explode with cheers at Jack’s approach. Adam spots Bitty right away — Jack really did get him and his friends good seats — and is about to join in the shooting drill when he spots a navy suit jacket that—

That kind of, almost, looks exactly like his.

He squints. Then he’s off, skating harder than he’s ever skated in his life.

Jack’s leaning as close as he can, his glove off and fingers pressed to the glass, and Bitty’s looking at him with such a _look_ that Adam almost can’t stand, so when he stops next to them he stops hard enough to shower Jack with snow. Jack bats at him without taking his eyes off Bitty.

Adam nudges him gently, turns to take in Bitty’s friends, and his jaw drops.

He’s face to face with the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen.

Who’s wearing his jacket.

Looking at him like he’s the best thing to happen to him. Adam wonders how he's looking back.

________________________________________________

 

Justin’s only thought is _he’s even more stunning in person_ before Shitty’s shaking him out of his trance. Birkholtz looks momentarily stunned himself, and he seems to snap out of it at Shitty’s movement too. He skates right up to Justin and says something Justin can’t hear and he’d given a million dollars to the entire crowd for them to shut up a second so he can have this, Adam Birkholtz, best defenseman in the league, talking directly to him.

“What’s he saying?” Shitty yells into his ear. Justin pushes him off and about presses his ear to the glass, miming _I can’t hear you_ as best as he can. He gives Birkholtz an apologetic smile.

Birkholtz twists his lips in a way that Justin knows from watching too many interviews means he’s thinking. He takes off his gloves and unceremoniously hands them to Jack, then tugs at his jersey and gestures toward Justin.

Lardo murmurs, “Is he — his jersey?” and something like fireworks goes off in Justin’s head. He shoves them down as Birkholtz does the same gesture again.

Then he gets it. He plucks at the lapel of the jacket and raises his eyebrows, pointing to Birkholtz, and Birkholtz looks as relieved as Justin felt when he got his PhD. He nods emphatically, and Justin feels like he’s about to die from embarrassment.

“Nah,” he tells Lardo. “I’m wearing his clothes.”

Bitty bursts out laughing, Jack looks at him like he invented the world, and Justin mouths _sorry_ and thanks his parents for his skin tone. He’s almost positive they’re on camera somewhere, and he doesn’t need the world to know how he feels about being in _Adam Birkholtz’s_ clothing.

Birkholtz shakes his head with a smile and mouths, _not a problem_. A buzzer goes off and he glances toward the bench, then makes eye contact again. Justin takes a moment to appreciate how his eyes look when he smiles.

 _Later,_ Birkholtz mouths, skating backward, and Justin nods. He can’t trust himself to speak right now.

Later. He might — he’s actually going to meet Adam Birkholtz.

“Holy shit,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. He smooths down the front of the jacket absently. “That happened, right? Adam Birkholtz was — right?”

“That happened, Rans,” Shitty says. He sounds about as breathless as Justin himself.

Lardo has one eyebrow raised and a smile half forgotten on her face. “You guys gonna make it?”

Fuck knows at this point, honestly. Bitty’s still laughing to himself and Justin cranes forward to narrow his eyes at him.

“What’s so funny, Bitty?” Justin asks.

“I—” A whistle blows. The PA starts the pregame spiel. “I’ll tell you later,” Bitty yells, hearts in his eyes as Jack’s name is announced.

“But—”

“Let the man watch his man play professional hockey,” Shitty says loudly.

Lardo chimes in with an “And maybe next game we can say you’re watching your man play professional hockey,” and he’s too busy blushing to come up with a good response.

____________

 

Shitty makes good on his promise to buy Justin a Falconers shirt during the intermission after first period and when the Aces got called on an icing, Birkholtz finds them in the stands again and pretends to be tearful when Justin isn’t wearing his shirt. Justin shrugs apologetically for lack of a better response, and Birkholtz makes a motion like Justin’s breaking his heart. Providence wins that faceoff. Jack scores off Birkholtz’s assist. Justin thinks he might be a little in love.

After the second period, Bitty pulls up the pregame red carpet on his phone. Justin about  _ faints. _

His clothes are much too tight for someone at their NHL peak. Birkholtz looks like he’s a little uncomfortable — Justin’s seen other pregame clips, and he’s always moving his hands and acting like he’s about to start a Broadway routine; onscreen, he fidgets with the neck of Justin’s shirt and keeps adjusting the sleeves of his blazer. 

It’s hard to ignore how good he looks in pink and brown. Salmon is a difficult color to work with, and it brings out the peachiness of his skin tone very beautifully. His freckles are popping too. Justin almost wants to tell him to keep it just so he can see him dressed like this for press. It doesn’t hurt that, when he walks away after his last interview, his ass looks downright devastating in Justin’s pants. 

Bitty replays the whole interview without being prompted and Justin’s not at all upset at the way his friends are smirking at him. Adam Birkholtz is a beautiful, beautiful man, and he’s  _ wearing Justin’s clothes. _ Lardo says something about Birkholtz being in Justin’s pants before being  _ in _ Justin’s pants and Justin’s cheeks are on fire by the time the zamboni gets off the ice.

Justin wonders if it’s a good game. He hasn’t paid attention to anyone but Birkholtz all night, hanging on every sharp turn, gasping at his stick handling. A small voice in his head wants to know about his other stick handling, and he’s beyond lucky Shitty, Lardo, and Bitty are too invested to chirp him. The first game the four of them went to, they’d spent the whole time speculating loudly about whether or not Jack was a good kisser to make Bitty flustered.

He wonders if Adam’s a good kisser. It’s midway through the third period and he realizes that’s not the pressing issue here but he’s imagining Adam brushing an eyelash off his cheek, softly saying his name, and—

“Rans?” Lardo asks. “Game’s over, they’re inviting us back to the locker room.”

Justin shakes his head quickly. “What?”

“Jack’s asking us back to the locker room,” she repeats. She sounds distinctly amused, and Shitty outright giggles. “C’mon Ransy, up we go.”

“No way,” Justin says. This is too much after everything. “Are you sure they mean us?”

Lardo taps a finger against her chin. “Let’s think,” she says, teasing. “Bitty’s Jack’s boyfriend and you have their star defenseman’s duffel bag. I’m pretty sure.”

“But,” Justin starts, trying to name this feeling in his chest. He opens his mouth again but nothing comes out.

Bitty places a hand on his arm sympathetically and says, “Is this because of Adam’s _Body Issue?”_

That didn’t help at all. Justin makes a strangled sort of noise.

“You broke him, Bits,” Shitty sighs, before pulling Justin out of his chair.

Justin lets himself be led to the locker room, trying not to imagine Adam naked. It works until they open the door.

“Hey,” Adam says brightly. Lights refract in the water droplets on his skin. He’s got a towel knotted low around his waist and uses another to dry off his hair and Justin sees so, so much of his torso and muscles and his lips are so pink— “I’m Adam.”

________________________________________________

 

Justin shakes his hand and Adam has to remind himself to let go. He clears his throat. “Yeah. So. Jack said you’re staying at our hotel, so it’ll be easy to swap duffels back then, if you want.”

“You mean I can keep this?” Justin says, eyes crinkling like he’s about to laugh.

Adam kind of really, really wants to hear him laugh.

Bitty rolls his eyes and says, “As if,” and Adam gasps.

“What’re you trying to say, Bittle?”

“I’m _sayin’_ Ransom’s clothing looks way better on you than yours on his, so if anyone should want to keep clothing, it should be _you._ You need more prints in your life.”

He wants so dearly to protest this. Okay, maybe his jacket is a little big, and Justin’s ass isn’t quite an NHL ass — though it is very, very nice regardless — so his pants don’t fit right, but Adam has a sneaking suspicion Justin could wear anything and it’d look like it was made for him. His mouth is open to say as much when Justin’s eyes widen like he’s figured something out.

“You knew!” he says accusingly. Bitty covers his mouth, clearly on the verge of cracking up. “My prints! Bitty!”

Bitty spreads his hands innocently. Justin crosses his arms, shaking his head, and Adam nearly asks him out right then.

____________

 

Jack asks everyone to dinner and Adam lets himself be swept along by the sound of Justin’s voice. They’re both a little awkward around each other, he thinks; Justin looks at him like he can’t look at him properly, and Adam’s ability to flirt flies out the window when he realizes Justin’s unbuttoned his shirt just a little bit more. Adam hadn’t thought he had a thing for collarbones, but Justin’s catch the light so beautifully that Adam’s having a hard time focusing on his food.

He jumps in now and then with stories about Jack before he met Bitty and when he was trying to ask him out on a proper date, how distracted he was in the locker room the entire time they weren’t together yet and the way he dropped several easy passes when Bitty finally showed up to a game. Tater tells them about the time Jack dropped one of Bitty’s pies in the locker room and the whole table gasps, laughing, when Adam reminds them how Poots and Snowy still ate some of it.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Bitty says, a hand on his heart. Adam solemnly shakes his head.

“It’s not as bad as that time you put laxatives in that pie,” Justin says. Bitty swats at him. Adam, who’d just taken a sip of wine, splutters so much that half his glass ends up on his shirt.

“You did what?”

Before he blinks, Justin reaches over the table with his napkin and dabs at the spill on his shirt. Adam’s mouth parts. He completely misses Bitty’s explanation — something about a rival lacrosse team in college? — instead enthralled by the feeling of Justin so close and the smell of him. It’s so unexpected a moment that he wants to say something to have him keep his hand there. Justin draws back too soon.

Adam’s going to say something stupid by the end of this. It’s going to happen. He checks around the table to see if anyone’s noticed and makes eye contact with Jack and Tater, who both look amused. He sends them both a pleading look.

“It’s getting late,” Jack says, faking a yawn. “Curfew.”

Immediately, Tater turns to Jack and Bitty. “I go with you,” he says. “There’s pie in car.”

“You’ll take Rans back brah?” Shitty asks. He stands and stretches. Justin stares at Shitty intently.

It takes Adam a moment to realize Shitty’s addressing him specifically. “Me?”

“If that’s chill,” Lardo says. “We came with Bits, there isn’t room for six people in their rental.”

It’s only five minutes to the hotel. He can be in a car with Justin for five minutes, even if he finds it hard to breathe around him.

He glances at Justin and raises his eyebrows questioningly. Justin says, “If you want,” and Adam wants.

____________

 

He feels like he’s going to buzz out of his skin. This close, Justin smells like coconut butter and something a little sharper in the best way possible. Before he’d spilt all over his shirt, he’d smelled a little like that too. It’s five minutes and he’s going to go out of his mind if he doesn’t say anything.

“Hey,” Adam says. He sounds hoarse; he clears his throat. Justin looks at him from the passenger’s side, forehead wrinkled. “Can I just. Can I say something?”

“What’s up?”

Adam looks at him and Justin looks back and Adam says, “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” and Justin _looks_ at him. It’s funny when you can see the change in someone like that. One second one thing, the next entirely different. Justin’s entire face clears.

“I know it’s early to say something like that,” Adam says, tapping a slow beat on the steering wheel. He tries to get his heart to match it. “I know I don’t know you well, and I’m not like. Expecting something from you. But I needed to say it.”

“Hey,” Justin says softly. “Can I say something too?”

Adam swallows and nods.

“I don’t believe you.” Adam gets out _no wait_ before Justin laughingly presses a finger to his lips, shutting him up. “I don’t believe you, because you see yourself every day. You’re really something.”

Adam thinks over this a moment, then pulls out of the parking lot. They don’t say anything on the drive to the hotel. It’s the easy sort of quiet that comes from saying things you need to say. They hit one stoplight. Adam uses it to watch how the lights dance on Justin’s skin.

He opens the door for Justin and when they get to his floor, Adam walks him to his room.

There’s a moment where something like want stretches between them.

“Um,” Justin says. “I’m here for a conference, so. I won’t be at your game tomorrow, and I know you’re flying out afterward. Do you want it now, or I can drop it off—”

“How long’s your conference?”

Justin leans back against his door. “Two more days.”

“Well,” Adam says, thinking. He should say yes. There’s an optional skate two days from now that he should be back for, and mandatory practice the day after that. But he’s never missed before. He’d kind of like to roam Vegas a little while, even if they did keep his team from the Cup last year.

Justin gently kicks his foot. “‘Well’ what?”

“I’m trying to figure out,” Adam says slowly, “how to say ‘I’d like to see you a little longer in Vegas, and then when we get back home too, if you live near Providence’ and I’m having a hard time with it.”

After a few seconds, he chances a look at Justin, and Justin’s looking at him with a _look_ he almost can’t stand, and he wants so desperately to kiss him.

“I’d like that,” Justin says shyly. “I have two hours for lunch, and we end early the last day.”

“I can wander around and see what restaurants look good,” Adam offers. “Maximize that lunch break.”

Justin says, “I live fifteen minutes from Providence,” and something like possibility swoops low in Adam’s stomach. He hasn’t been this excited since the draft, and even that isn’t the right comparison. There’s something so tangible here.

Adam asks for Justin’s number and says, “I’ll text you,” and Justin gives it to him with a smile and then Adam texts him, his heart beating so loudly in his chest. Justin gasps when he reads it.

Justin meets him halfway. Adam holds him, hands low on his waist like they’ve done this in some other lifetime, and Justin says, “Yes.”

He’d sent, _Can I kiss you?_

________________________________________________

 

Adam kisses exactly like he plays. Sure, soft, deliberate. Justin _knew_ it. Adam draws back to ask why he’s laughing and when Justin explains, he walks him back until he’s flush against the door. Then he says, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Then show me,” Justin whispers, and Adam does.

________________________________________________

  


**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to get back to writing fics for myself and this one has been sitting in my drafts for awhile now. Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr, [come say hi <3](http://ivecarvedawoodenheart.tumblr.com)


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